


Long Live the Car Crash Hearts

by beneduck_cucumberpatch



Category: BBC Sherlock, Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: M/M, Rating May Change, Road Trip, Running Away, Teenlock, driving in an old van, i never specify how old they are, they're technically homeless
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-10-13
Updated: 2015-10-13
Packaged: 2018-04-26 06:38:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,205
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4994092
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/beneduck_cucumberpatch/pseuds/beneduck_cucumberpatch
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John and Sherlock are tired of the hell that they live in. So what do they do?<br/>They buy a van, they take some cash, and they run.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Long Live the Car Crash Hearts

The night air, much cooler than that of the hot summer days, felt electric against Sherlock’s skin. His heart pounded in his chest and his pale cheeks were tinted red in excitement for what was yet to come. He was near John’s house, now, and in the darkness no one would see them slip away. It was a perfect plan.  
He gathered a few pebbles from the garden and threw them over the fence to John’s window. The fence, a dark and strong wood, was certainly easy enough to climb, but he needed something he could hide behind were the wrong person to come out. He tossed the rocks towards the window and waited. The window soon opened and John slid out, wearing a clean pair of jeans and shirt advertising some rock band his father despised.  
Not that John cared what his father thought.  
He made sure his bag had all he needed— cash that he’s been saving forever, clothes, CD’s, a bunch of cans of food— and threw it over the fence for Sherlock to catch. He put it on and waited for John to hop the fence.   
"Ready?" he asked, smiling over the taller boy. John had been waiting for this for ages. They’d both pitched in to buy a van and threw an old mattress from (one of the many) guest bedrooms in Sherlock’s house. They’d been stocking it with canned food and water for ages now and they were ready to leave this hell of a town. All they needed to do was get in and leave.  
"Ready."  
They walked to where they hid the van in a store parking lot and made sure they had enough petrol to get them out of town. Sherlock looked to John, smiling, and John returned the gesture.  
"Gonna be one hell of a trip," he nodded, throwing his backpack onto the mattress in the back. He pauses. Something’s different. "You added drawers? Where’d you get those?"  
Sherlock looked back, "I figured we’d need storage so I bought a whole bunch of cupboards and stuff. Like them? It was hell making sure they’ll not slide around. The drawers won’t fly open when we drive, either. They all lock and you have to push on them to close them. I put all the cans away and there’s enough space for clothes." Sherlock brings his knees to his chest, "I thought you’d like it."  
John looks back. It’s an improvement, honestly, "Yeah. It’s good. You’re brilliant, you know." John sat still, getting comfortable, "There’s no going back, you know. Once we drive out of here we’re gone." Sherlock was silent before he nodded once.  
"I know."  
He put the key in the ignition and pulled out of the parking lot. They drove in a comfortable silence for a while before anyone spoke again. They’d see London, first, then drive wherever the road takes them. Just the two of them.   
"Put on some music. I put a bunch of CD’s in my backpack," John’s eyes flickered the backpack and then to the car radio. Sherlock did as John suggested, digging into the backpack and pulling out one of John’s favorite albums. It may be deep in the night, but that didn’t mean it needed to be so quiet. He slid the CD into the player and John lit up as the first warm note bled from the speaker. Sherlock watched him in awe, smiling. John truly was a blessing. He didn’t deserve the life he had and Sherlock was more than glad to get himself out, too. The music droned peacefully in the background as John, lit by streetlights and oncoming traffic, shone in gold.  
Sherlock had never been happier to awake at three in the morning.

They pulled over eventually to take a break, once they were in London. The sun was peeking it’s head over the city on the horizon and the air was warm and inviting. They’d climbed into the back of the van to put away John’s clothes in the drawer marked with his name. Sherlock’s drawer, also marked with his name, was the same product. The metal drawers belonged in an office, really, and Sherlock’s job of sticking them to the walls of the van was questionable at best. John doubted the glue Sherlock bought would be entirely effective, but it worked for now. It was all they needed.   
The food was kept in similar containers around the back of the van. The cans— an assortment of soups, fruits, and beans— would last them for a long while, providing they were careful. They had plenty of water and gas station coffee was cheap enough to buy every once in a while. Together they may have brought a fair amount of money, but it wouldn’t last forever. If Sherlock continued to withdraw from his account his parents would notice. They knew how to be safe. they both kept a pocket knife on them at all times and all the cash was kept in a small, locked safe hidden under the stacks of cans in the back.   
They climbed into the bed they’d made with red sheets and a black duvet and slept for a while. Sherlock woke first, as usual, and waited for John to wake up, next. Maybe they’d buy some bread to eat with the food. He was sure it’d be pretty cheap. He’d have to talk to John once he woke up. Sherlock grabbed a bottle of water and moved to sit in the passenger seat. Coffee, too, could be good. John began to stir.  
"Awake?" he asks, resting his elbow on the center console. "Where do we go from here?" he asked after a moment of silence. John sat up and stretched, then climbed into the front seat.   
"Where do you want to go. The world is your oyster or whatever," he chuckled, taking the water bottle from Sherlock and taking a sip, "There’s literally all of Europe, Asia, and Africa we could go to."   
Sherlock thought for a moment, before shrugging. "Let’s just drive, then."  
John started up the van and they puttered down the road, the music from last night still floating from the speakers. Sherlock licked his lips and made sure their seatbelt were both on, looking out onto the road. They drove out of town and into the suburbs, then out into the country. The trees shone emerald in the high sun and they rolled open both windows. John laughed, watching Sherlock’s hair whip around his face and looks back to the road. He turns up the music and tips his head back before letting out a scream. He looked to Sherlock, who was smiling back, and waited for him to do the same.   "Come on! No one can hear you. I know you want to," he shouts over the sound of the rushing wind and blaring music, feeling as free as he could possibly be. For the first time in his life he was free from his father and all the shouting and he felt damn good.   
And Sherlock shouted back.  
Soon they were shouting along to the song blasting through their speakers and he was sure there was nothing better on the planet.


End file.
